"I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my
Squishy."

Butterfly lost.

A delicate, translucent thing.
It's easier this way.
The reality causes sickness;
a hurt that makes me sob.
She's trapped.
Between the fingers of her lovers.
Against the window;
one, two, three, on and on.
A desperate fluttering against the pane.
Damage done to soft, soft wings.
It hurts but it alleviates.
In that tiny body is a burden;
fear, worry, fear.
And this is my terror:
I cannot cup my hands around her.
Stop her. Carry her to safety.
Small, fragile and broken.
A delicate, translucent thing.
It's easier this way.

The Mad Hatter's Tea Party!

The Caterpillar came with bubbles instead of a pipe, and spent the afternoon drinking red nectar from a teacup. The White Rabbit was at one point spotted up a tree, and ended up marrying the Queen of Hearts. The Dormouse didn't fall asleep once, and was the children's favourite during our stroll through town to our Tea Party area. The Queen of Hearts left felt hearts almost everywhere she went, and beheaded everyone at least twice. The March Hare was shockingly late, and transformed before our eyes from normality to apparent insanity. Alice finally caught the White Rabbit, and even remembered the prizes for the Caucus Race.
The Mad Hatter danced with wild abandon across the grass, scattered invitations left and right, and was wished a Happy Birthday by three complete strangers. Silly people. Did they not know it was my Un-Birthday..?

Kudos to you, my old friend, whose idea it was to celebrate an Un-Birthday in such a way. I can still feel the cold touch of my teacup handle and the jolt of each and every *Clink!*. I can still see the colour and variety of the costumes and the laughter on every face. I can still hear the cries of "Taaaaaart!" and the terrible puns that circulated. I can still taste the strawberry jam and the pink icing on the cupcakes.

Here is an offering: Snapshot images of parts of a Mad Hatter bedecked in black and grey and blue, and covered in buttons and ribbons and lace.

Fob watch - an early Birthday present - and waistcoat.



Hat! An awkward angle, but there it is.



An old pair of black heels, especially decorated.



Finally, here she is. Dancing in bare feet on sun-dry grass, the Queen of Heart's fan in one hand.



For once in my life, I had a real excuse to go completely mad. I loved every minute of it.

"... Auntie's wooden leg, Auntie's wooden leg! Dee da, dee da, Auntie's wooden leg..."

Un-Birthday.

Four days. Four whole days! Fourteen pages in my journal are dedicated to this time. The celebration of my Un-Birthday gathered together the most important people in my life, and spun such a colourful, insanely beautiful celebration my eyes dance with the very thought.
A Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Dinner at Maxwells with my girls. Bad tv until one in the afternoon. A picnic in the park that brought together nearly everyone who was special to me. An all-nighter (!!) in which three films were watched and brownies made. A sunrise watched, cuddled on a stone in a park with cardies pulled tight round thin pjs. Coffee drank whilst sat on the kerb at 5:30am. A very early morning trip to the playground. An afternoon supporting a new piercing. Impromptu naps mid-afternoon. Fish and Chips in the garden, and poems and laughter and tears exchanged.
The best birthday (sorry, Un-Birthday) celebration with my darlings I have ever had. And yet my real birth-date awaits me, with promises of a family day still waiting.
My life is good.

Quick post - No. 3

A very special PostSecret that nearly made me cry. It means next to nothing if you don't know the context (ie. haven't read last week's Secrets) but to me it is special.

Here.

If you don't know PostSecret, I suggest you click the name and go have a look.

Excitement.

Ach, I can barely contain my excitement! Slowly but surely my birthday celebrations are creeping closer... Only four more days to go. Only four! The costumes are completed (with the exception of a velvety-red crown), the plans have been made, and the invitations circulated. The teacups are wrapped in tissue paper and stored carefully on my shelf, along with a teapot decorated with pink roses. The picnic blanket is... nowhere to be seen. Hmm, have to fix that. And the menu is pretty such sorted. In four days, the four days (oh, how conveniently balanced!) of early celebrations will begin.

Bring it on!

Sweet summer Rec

Ten pence apple pie. An icecream apiece;
sticky sweet fingers and chocolate cold tongues.
Tarmac-hot air swirls around our bare arms.
Park sat on cricket mat. Watch them boys stare;
a football kicked high and six pack showed off.
The first drops of rain land on open palms.